Fiyero woke suddenly and a harsh, sharp, involuntary breath filled his lungs. He exhaled and immediately his body sucked in another agonizing gulp of air as though it thought it could fight death with oxygen alone, as though it was determined for each lungful to not be the last. Fiyero pitched forward, arms flailing wildly, and upon the realization they were no longer bound to the surface on which they had been stretched across his eyes snapped open of their own accord. Light assaulted him violently and he cried out, clapping a hand over his face to shield himself, but his senses continued to be battered: creaking, thumping, bumping, rattling deafened him, liquid dripped from his nose and his mouth burned with the foul flavor of pure ethanol.

"Master Fiyero!"

A voice, louder than even the onslaught of noise that beat his already aching head, called out, and he started, jerking back as if to protect himself from his newest attacker. No, he wasn't dead yet, he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of killing him, and he swatted blindly at him.

His world, which had been a jumble of vibrations and jolts, suddenly came to an abrupt stop and he had not prepared himself for it. He fell against a vertical surface and crashed to the ground, where his long, aching limbs were trapped in a seemingly tight cubby.

"Master Fiyero!" he heard again, this time, far too close, and his eyelids peeled back to see not a soldier, but an old, familiar face, one that he had not seen in many moons.

"Aerijk?" he mumbled groggily as his old servant came into focus.

"Are you all right, sir?"

Of course he wasn't okay. The man who had once acted as his aide grabbed him and helped him up into a sitting position. Fiyero merely grabbed his pounding head as he saw he was not in a cornfield or a prison cell as he expected to be, but rather a carriage. Moisture stuck on his trembling hand from his face and he pulled it down to look at it, expecting his scarlet essence to cling to it, but instead it gleamed with a sheen of mere sweat. His shirt felt as though it was also soaked with perspiration where it should have been caked with blood, but the only crimson he saw was that of a red vest he didn't remember wearing; he reached behind him frantically, trying to find where the nail had pierced his back. Not only was it not there, there was no wound.

His rapid movement sent his head spiraling and his stomach lurching. "I think I'm going to be sick," he told Aerijk, and his old driver wasted no time in dropping down from the carriage step to let the prince stagger past him, barely touching the ground before he heaved and vomited across the pavement.

Waves of nausea crashed over him and he kept retching, even when the contents of his stomach were dispelled completely, and when he finally could right himself he could distinctly recognize the taste of repeated liquor, though how that was possible he did not know.

He wiped saliva from his chin with the back of a shaky hand and tried to determine their location through his watering eyes.

This did not look like Munchkinland, and the path to the Emerald City was one he knew well. If he had to venture a guess, he would have thought the rolling green hills, scattered trees and bright blue sky belonged to Gillikin, but without any recognizable landmarks to go by, for all he knew the small homes that littered the landscape could have existed out of Oz.

"Where are we? And how did we get here?"

"Almost there, sir," Aerijk said. "We've been travelling all day."

"Almost where?"

"Shiz University!"

"Impossible," Fiyero murmured, and set off unsteadily down the road, where less than a quarter a mile away waited a cluster of buildings. Aerijk kept calling for him but once he got a better handle on his limbs he took off at a run, hoping that something or someone there would have the answers he needed.

The first door he found was that of a small store, and he burst his way in ungracefully and found a stack of newspapers, ignoring the gaping stares from its patrons as he snatched up a copy. Sure enough, it was a local paper of a town only a few miles from Shiz, along with popular printings of eastern Gillikin. Not a single issue boasted of the Wicked Witch above its fold, of Glinda the Good, or of Nessarose's recent demise. He checked the date, wanting to know how much time had passed since that night in Munchkinland; it had to have been substantial if all the injuries he had received at the hands of the Gale Force were nothing but aches at this point and if everything he knew was old news…

He dropped the paper in shock as the numbers processed his mind. They read as a date long ago. Impossible, he thought again, but even from the floor the small print did not change. He picked up another newspaper, seeing if it was a mistake, but the date did not change. The other two in stock confirmed it.

Was this some elaborate ploy? A trick? He looked up at the salesman, who was watching him warily, and suspicion washed over him. The Wizard must have arranged this…had his driver pick him up and treat his injuries, then bring him to Gillikin where he would awake to see the carefully manipulated props left for him in some random town… No. Even Elphaba, distrusting as she was, would probably laugh at his development of conspiracy theories. So what was this then? Was this all but a vivid dream? Was he really still hung up on a pole somewhere across Oz with his blood slowly leaking from a hole in his back, his mind fading into hallucinations?

He thought about the last few moments before his world had closed in on him, when he heard Elphaba's voice in his head, chanting words he did not know… Was it possible that she had magicked this? Had she sent him reeling back in time? He had never heard of such a thing.

Fiyero was about to walk out of the shop, deep in thought, but even in his confusion he couldn't deny his thirst. He searched his pockets, finding a large bill, grabbed a couple of bottles of water and dropped the money on the counter for the shopkeeper before leaving without a word.

Aerijk was waiting for him in the carriage and remained quiet as the prince downed an entire bottle before starting the second.

"Well sire, that must have been quite a night you had last night," he said, referencing his obvious hangover.

Fiyero dumped the last of the water over his head, hoping it could clear the last of his incoherent thoughts, and climbed back in the carriage, still dripping wet. He found a pair of sunglasses on the seat next to him and put them on, grateful, and leaned back wearily in his seat. "You have no idea."

By the time Shiz, in all its glory, appeared in the distance, the warm wind had dried him completely, but Fiyero was oblivious. Aerijk's driving had lulled him into a stupor, one filled with thoughts of Elphaba and of this lucid dream from which he would not wake. He wasn't sure if it was temporary; if he fell unconscious again, would he return to his battered body with the tall cornstalks whipping against his broken kneecaps and birds circling him impatiently? As much as he wanted to return to Elphaba, he hoped not.

"Here we are, sir! Shiz University!"

"Already?" he murmured. He pulled his chin up from his chest and stretched, peering over his sunglasses. Sure enough, mossy bluestone walls surrounded him behind nets of thick vine, and watery-glass windows glistened brightly at him as though to welcome him optimistically to the antiquated campus. Nostalgia hit hard, as a soft-spoken insight from a certain green girl would, and a breath shuddered from his lips as he leapt out of the coach and onto the cobblestone courtyard at the base of Ozma Towers.

"It's the Winkie prince!" students hissed loudly to one another across the square, causing women and men alike all to stare at him. He stilled, paranoid, at first fearing that soldiers or security would burst between the seams of moving bodies, but then the dates and the newspaper headlines flashed through his mind. If he was right, this…this was the day he arrived at Shiz. The day of the Ozdust. The day of his and Glinda's first date. The day he met her.

No one called for his arrest or feared the Wicked Witch would burst from concealment behind him. If his speculation was correct, then the events of the last couple of years had yet to occur, meaning Elphaba was not a villain, he was not the Captain of the Guard, Glinda was with a guh, Nessarose was alive, and the Wizard had yet to influence any of them. None of these people dawdling between their lectures even knew him yet. Even familiar faces, with whom he had shared a class or perhaps even a drink, gawked openly, as though trying to catch a first glimpse of the scandalacious Vinkun royal.

This was all so crazy.

There was a satchel on his hip and curiously he plunged a hand into it, pulling out a piece of paper he vaguely remembered from his past. The Shiz letterhead had a list of classes he was expected to attend – biology, history, political studies, economics, literature – and a list of texts he was required to read. Was this his fate? Brainless Prince Fiyero, damned to be stuck in school forever? How ironic.

"Well," he said, shaking Aerijk's hand in farewell. "Here I go again."

He peered through the crowd, desperate for a flicker of green other than the well-kempt shrubbery and shade trees that bordered the stone courtyard. But then he saw Glinda – or Galinda, he realized with a start – not too far down the way looking as simple and pretty in her Gillikinese garb as the first day he had met her. Well, he supposed this was the first day he had met her. But he hadn't actually met her yet.

He was going to have to get a stiff drink before long at this rate. Well, if things were to repeat themselves, at least there would be a party.

"Are you looking for something…or someone?" a familiar voice cooed to him, and he was startled out of his reverie see Galinda had managed to glide to his side without his notice.

He pulled off his glasses to gaze down at her, searching her blue eyes for some sort of recognition or some indication that the woman whose heart he broke was hiding behind a façade. Why, he couldn't tell you, but he was a desperate man in a strange situation. But Glinda was not there; no, this was a young lady with no secrets or troubles at all. And a pang of sadness hit him, for even when he felt completely lonesome in a world that ostracized an innocent, dogmatic, misunderstood girl, he still at least had Glinda.

Instead of his close friend and quasi-fiancée, Glinda's youthful doppelganger was looking up at him with fluttering eyelashes and a beguiling smile.

"Uh," he started, blinking away his introspection to focus on the sweet socialite waiting on him. It wouldn't help his reputation if he was clearly too lost in thought to answer a seemingly simple question. What was he looking for besides the love of his life? He looked down at the schedule in his hand. "A, um, history class?"

Boq – a surprisingly pleasant face to see again here at Shiz – stepped into view and rapped him in the arm testily with a book, pointing away. "That's the history building, right over there."

"You just missed that class, actually."

It was like déjà vu, but worse. Was he supposed to be encouraging this sameness, knowing how it would all end? He reasoned he shouldn't attempt to alter anything drastically until he had a better bearing. But where would he begin? The Ozdust. That was where he and Elphaba had met the first time; Galinda had introduced them. As far as he knew, all he had done was act as the catalyst to get the party started, literally, and by the night's end they would all be friends. But what else was in his control, or what else did he influence?

So much had to go right this evening…

He plastered a fake grin on his face; a practiced act. "Perfect. So…what does one do for fun around here?"

"Nothing really," Galinda said with a cute sigh and shrug, before a clever smile graced her face. "Until now…"

"We've been studying!" little Boq said, and even all these years later, though so much had changed, he still cringed at the Munchkin's enthusiasm. While he wasn't the same man who philosophized carelessness, he still had to say something, if not for his sake then for Boq's. Elphaba had told him of his fate in Munchkinland and it was not a pleasant one.

Fiyero forced Boq to lower the book he had in his hands, seeing it was indeed the history book he himself had spent his first year at Shiz forcefully neglecting, for good reason. It was dreadfully dull. "There's more to university than studying boring wars."

"Like what?"

It was about the people, he thought. It was about second chances. It was about being truly content with his decisions, and to not take things for granted this time around. Surely the things he knew about what was to come were horrible, but he could use it all to his advantage; he would make the most of it.

Fiyero had not been wrong when he told Elphaba how much he had changed. He laughed at himself.

"The examined life. Look at all the beautiful things around you!" And the Munchkin was, staring at Galinda like she was Lurline herself. "One day you'll look back and wish you had made hay while the sun shines. Nothing matters except knowing everything matters."

Leaning on Boq, who was definitely sagging under his weight, he grinned at Galinda charmingly. "So…what's the most swankified place in town?"

"That would be the Ozdust Ballroom!"

He elbowed Boq in a friendly and familiar way and the small man paled at the contact. "Perfect. Let's go down to the Ozdust Ballroom—we can meet there later tonight. We'll go dancing. Find the prettiest girl—" Elphaba's face, shadowed under that hideodeous hat, filled his mind, "—give her a whirl! You'll be happy to be there."

Both men returned Galinda's pretty smile, though Boq's was comparatively dopey. "Life is going to change so much before you'll realize it. Take advantage of the time you have to enjoy yourself a little." He softly clapped Boq's heated face affectionately between his hands and decided to let the poor thing go. He stumbled off toward Galinda, puffing himself up to his full height – which was good for a Munchkin but otherwise unremarkable – when he reached her side.

"Miss Galinda? I hope you'll save at least one dance for me. I'll be right there, waiting, all night."

"Oh Bick! That's so kind! But do you know what would be even kinder? See that tragically beautiful girl? The one in the chair?" Boq followed her finger to where Nessarose Thropp – who Fiyero had almost forgotten about – was wheeling through the courtyard between classes, oblivious to the attention. "It seems so unfair that we should go and not her. Gee, I know someone would be my hero if that someone were to go invite her."

"Maybe…I could invite her?"

He was walking right into her trap, Fiyero noticed pitifully. Again. He supposed he should be grateful the boy was such a pushover, because if he expected to be introduced to Elphaba, Galinda Upland would have to be his date. And she was making sure of it.

"Oh Bick? Really? You would do that for me?"

"I would do anything for you, Miss Galinda! Oh Miss Nessarose?" Boq called, out, beaming and waving at Galinda as he ran off to catch Nessa's wheelchair. "I have something I'd like to ask you!"

Fiyero watched with sadness as history began repeating himself in front of his eyes. He would take care of that later. But first he had a green girl to woo. "So…" he said to Galinda, flashing her his famous Fiyero grin. "I'll be picking you up around eight?"

"Sure. After all, now that we've met, it's clear we deserve each other. We're perfect together."

Indeed they were: still using each other for selfish gains.

"May I walk you to your next class?" he deflected, holding out his elbow for her.

"Please," she said happily, and she was practically skipping at his side. He let out a breath and kept smiling as they walked together, realizing that even though he was hoping to change the past, what he was doing was exactly like his future.

Only a few hours until he would see Elphaba and everything would change.